


Pretty

by UlsPi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Autistic Crowley (Good Omens), Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Getting Together, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, May/December Relationship, Sex Work, Sex Worker Aziraphale (Good Omens), Unconventional Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28014192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlsPi/pseuds/UlsPi
Summary: Aziraphale is a sex worker in his sixties. Crowley is a young business man who needs to appear neurotypical. There's nothing typical about their arrangement, but somehow it works far too well.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 242
Kudos: 190





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SerenityStargazer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenityStargazer/gifts).



> This here is my way of subverting as many expectations as possible.   
> My dear Serenitystargazer, it's all because of you, because I miss you and your writing. Hope you're doing well.
> 
> Any swerfs out there. It's not for you. Actually, this world is not for you, break news!

Aziraphale is cold, he's so cold! He's only ever read about this kind of cold, and he's feeling it in his bones, with every hair on his skin. 

It's his corner of the street, the one he's been working for decades, and yes, perhaps, he has to dress more alluringly, but then he'd be even colder than he's now, which shouldn't be possible without passing out. He's been working this corner for so long, and he couldn't complain, he really couldn't… But he's old now, he's old, he's dressed in a cream-coloured suit, he isn't sexy anymore. 

He has welcomed the progress, he's welcomed not being a criminal, but it also means that he has to look sexy - and Aziraphale's version of sexy is something entirely different to what the rest of the world finds sexy. 

Some of his colleagues have set up websites and they wait for their clients in the warmth of their flats, yet Aziraphale, he tends to cling on to things, he tends to cling on to the old cliches. It's what he knows, after all, it's what has been keeping him warm and fed for years. 

He's shivering and he's alone. No one else is working this street anymore. Aziraphale can only rely on the reputation of the area to be noticed, to be hired for at least an hour. Just fifteen minutes of warmth would be fine. 

He's always loved giving pleasure, defying the hypocrites, being free with his desires. He's not an easily pleased man, he's come to terms with it, but he enjoys himself when he's the one pleasuring, the one making his current, mostly anonymous lover sob with delight. 

He's not ashamed of being a sex worker. He has never been. But he's very much ashamed of being cold, of spending yet another night like this, hoping for work and getting some brutish client instead, and that's if he's lucky. 

He's used to pleasuring quiet, bookish people like himself, but such men have been rare lately… In the last ten years, he thinks. He doesn't understand how he can still think. 

If he's lucky, he's going to get his throat fucked, he's going to be treated badly, because he's desperate, because he doesn't know he can refuse… He can't refuse, actually, because he has rent, because he's hungry. 

There's no one to blame, really. He has refused to move on with the times, he has made himself vulnerable to all the bastards who look for someone no one will care about to abuse. 

He's used to that too, by now. After all, he's old, he's not sexy, he loves to eat, although he eats less these days, because the clients are rare and don't pay well. 

He wants to hug himself, but then he'll let the part of his mind he's scared to acknowledge, show. He doesn't want anyone to see he's desperate. 

There's a black car stopping next to him, and then a tall, lanky man steps down from the car.

Aziraphale can see that the man is distressed. Why else would he wear sunglasses at night? His cheeks are a bit puffy too, betraying a long cry. Aziraphale loves bringing consolation, and…

"Are you alright?" The man asks. He has red hair, shoulder-length, and the dim light makes it glow like fire… like warm and inviting flames. 

What has he said? Aziraphale doesn't know… he should check his hearing, he should, but he doesn't really want. Many of his clients talk dirty, and Aziraphale doesn't like it, so it's all for the best. 

The man… he saunters over to Aziraphale. He's handsome, he's young, he smells of… of not having to bother about warmth and food. A peculiar smell, by all means. 

"Are you alright?" The man asks again, touching Aziraphale's shoulder. 

"Cold," Aziraphale replies. He hates himself for admitting it, he has to flirt and be forward, he has to…

"Come here," the red-haired man says. 

He leads Aziraphale to his car and opens the door for him. The front door. 

Aziraphale gets in. 

It's warm inside, it's warm… and Aziraphale allows himself to think that it's safe, if only for a few minutes.

The man sits next to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale tries to smile seductively…

"None of that," says the man. Aziraphale can hear tears in his voice, and he could make the man feel so good, but… "You're cold. You're fucking freezing. For fuck's sake, what are you doing outside?"

The man is dressed lightly himself, but he doesn't seem to be cold. 

"Where do you live?"

"I… I work here. I can make you feel good, I…"

"Fuck! Fuck this word, fuck this whole fucking planet! Fuck everything!"

The man punches the wheel and breathes heavily. 

Then he sharply turns to Aziraphale and lifts his ridiculous sunglasses to reveal very strange eyes - one yellow, one black and unmoving. "Ok… ok, listen. Listen… do you have a place to stay?"

As he speaks, he empties his wallet and shoves quite a lot of cash into Aziraphale's hands. 

"I… I rent a flat…" Aziraphale replies. He's very lost. And cold. And hungry. He won't be able to buy any food at this hour, well, not without the internet and he doesn't use the internet. So he'll have to wait…

"Do you want me to take you there? Are you safe there?"

"Of course I am!" Aziraphale replies. He can't pocket the money, he hasn't done anything to earn it. 

"Good. Do you want me to take you there?"

Actually, Aziraphale doesn't want to go back. It's cold there too. It's cold and lonely. There's no food, there's no companion. 

"Ok, ok, you need to think, so I bet you don't want to go back. Do you… Ok…" The man drives terribly, and he keeps crying, as far as Aziraphale can say. "Ok, I… I'm not from here, I mean, not from London. I'm staying at the Ritz because my so called status demands so… Do you… do you want to come with me to the Ritz? We could eat? Could talk? It's… you don't have to do anything. I have a strange relationship with sex, so how about we just eat?"

"I'm hungry," Aziraphale admits. There's no shame in being hungry, but he rarely admits it to anyone, he doesn't even admit it to himself. 

And he's been dreaming about the Ritz since he was a young man, just starting out, tossed away by his family for being gay and being very excited about sex. 

"Alright," Aziraphale says. 

"Ok. Ok, good. Consent is crucial," the man mutters as he's driving to the Ritz. 

***

Again, Aziraphale isn't ashamed of his profession. He's brought pleasure to many a man through the years, but all the same, it's nice when the man holds his hand and opens the door for him.

Someone very eager to please rushes to the red-haired man. "Mr Crowley! So good to see you again! And your father of course!"

Aziraphale blushes. He doesn't like being old, because he's useless like that and…

"Now listen here, you underpaid shit!" Mr Crowley hisses. "I don't know if you hold hands with your father still, but if you do, I'm ready to pay for your therapy. This man is my lover, and you're an ageist homophobic prick. Want me to talk to your manager about it?"

Aziraphale is shocked. Crowley is furious and holding Aziraphale's hand. The eager to please man is so pale Aziraphale is worried about him.

"Thought so," Crowley says and tugs Aziraphale towards the lifts. 

"Fucking… people…" Crowley positively punches the button. "Say… oh you autistics, you can't get us, and then they are terrible! Just terrible!" Crowley holds Aziraphale's hand, he's gentle, he's young, he's so vulnerable…

"My dear… are you alright?"

"I am. I am. Sorry, angel."

"Angel?"

"Yes. You're an angel." Crowley's tone allows for no argument, so Aziraphale doesn't argue. 

They enter the suite. It's big and warm and Crowley seems to care nothing about it. 

Before Aziraphale can take everything in, Crowley is calling the room service. "Hello? Hi. I want your entire menu, probably twice… Oh really? Go check your fucking notes! I'm staying in the royal suite. I've been staying here for two fucking weeks! I want your entire menu and I want it twice and I want it now!"

Crowley's voice makes the air in the room thin, but then he looks up at Aziraphale and smiles, soft and vulnerable. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. They always expect someone else, you know…"

Aziraphale just nods. 

Crowley brings him every blanket and duvet he can find. "There… I'll… I'll make you a bath!" 

Crowley hurries away. Aziraphale is too stunned and too warm to ask questions… He's asleep soon. 

***

When he wakes up, he's surrounded by the smell of food, of good, fresh, exquisite food…

Aziraphale opens his eyes and takes in the sight in front of him. 

There's food, of course. 

But there's also that man, Crowley, smiling at Aziraphale and holding a cup of something hot in his long and pale hands. 

"I realised I might have been a creep… I really don't know what else to say."

Aziraphale looks at Crowley and decides that he's too hungry for any judgment, besides, he really likes eating. 

So he eats. Crowley helps him to seconds and thirds. 

"Look… look, I don't intend to… to assume or anything. My so called business partners, they assume a lot, and I'm tired of being… Fuck, I'm just too tired. How about we have a kind of… arrangement? I pay you your monthly rate per day and you pretend to be my partner, I mean my romantic partner?" Crowley's eyes go somewhat foggy then. "Listen… I'm autistic. Most of the time I just… I spend it in my house far from here. In South Downs, actually. I love learning, and I love studying, and well, at some point it turned out I'm a very good consultant. Hawkeye for detail and so forth. My friend manages it all. I have to show my face and make everyone believe that I'm a smooth devil. Better the devil you know, apparently. I just don't want to be alone through it all, ok?"

Aziraphale thinks for a bit.

"I might be too old to fit the description of a smooth devil's partner," he finally says.

"Hey, you're beautiful, and you… I'm safe with you. I feel safe with you. Please. It will buy me enough time and space to be myself. It will buy you a few months of rent. I can pay your rent for a year, and you won't need to do anything…"

"My dear, I'm pretty comfortable with being a sex worker."

"And I don't intend to shame you. Fuck, I'd be proud if I had you for a boyfriend! Please, help me out. Anything you want, angel… Well, if you want to suck my cock, then it might involve a lot of talking, but… please."

Crowley is beautiful. He looks lost and confused. 

"Alright. It's my rent for a year, and then I'm all yours."

"Ok. Ok… give me the number, I'll make sure to pay you tomorrow. Cash, checks, you name it."

Aziraphale gives Crowley the sum.

"Perfect. I think it's too small. I double it. There…" Crowley fetches his checkbook and writes Aziraphale a check. "We can cash it out tomorrow, if you want. Or a part of it. Really, I mean it. Anything you want. Clothes… do you want new clothes? I could spoil you," Crowley chuckles bitterly. "If you want. Consider me your Mephisto."

And at that Crowley turns a bit, to toss his checkbook away and to let Aziraphale see that the lining of his coat, that he's still wearing, is red. 

"Fine," Aziraphale replies.

"Really? Fuck! Thank you!"

That night Aziraphale falls asleep in a big, fluffy bed. Crowley shifts closer to him in his sleep, but Aziraphale doesn't mind. The man seems to be eager for affection and Aziraphale is generous with his.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a double update day! I will post another chapter in a few hours. Thank you all for being here!

Aziraphale wakes up early. Crowley is asleep, a thin thread of drool stretching from his lips and on the pillow. He looks even younger like that. Aziraphale realises he doesn't even know his name, other than Crowley, and while usually it wouldn't bother him, he's supposed to play the role of Crowley's romantic partner, and Crowley doesn't know Aziraphale's name either. 

Aziraphale gets up and goes to the bathroom. 

Last night neither of them took a shower and the bath Crowley had made for Aziraphale is still full, the remains of soap floating in the cold water. 

He walks around the suite. There are two more bedrooms, much bigger than the one they slept in, which Aziraphale doesn't understand, but perhaps Crowley feels more comfortable in smaller spaces. 

Aziraphale loves luxury, however little he can afford it and he could never afford something that luxurious, so he indulges in it while he can. 

In the living room there's the check Crowley wrote for him, without the name of course. The sum is obnoxious. It will last Aziraphale for a very long time. He should spend the money wisely, put some aside…

There's a knock on the door, and when Aziraphale opens it, he expects room service, but instead there's a short black-haired person wearing a long coat, also black, and a red scarf. 

"Hi," the person says and enters the room uninvited. "I'm Bea. You don't look like a gold-digger…" They offer Aziraphale a hand, which Aziraphale carefully shakes. 

"My pronouns are they/them. I'm Crowley's manager and assistant. And accountant. At least I don't need to be his bodyguard, the man is careful enough and sometimes even paranoid." Bea chuckles. "What's your name?"

"Aziraphale Fell. I'm…"

"I know. Crowley texted me yesterday while you were asleep." Bea notices the check and goes for it. They fill in the name, put the date on and hand it to Aziraphale. "There. I'm not too busy today, I can settle the things with your landlord. Could kill them, if you want," they shrug. 

"Oh, please, don't kill her! She's a dear friend! Her name is Mme Tracy, she's a splendid dominatrix."

"Hmmmm… you recommend?" Bea smiles. 

"She's a soft dom, and I do recommend her, but solely based on my acquaintance with her."

"Yeah, you have _gay_ written all over you. Alright… So, I have a few things to work over with Crowley… I'm gonna order us breakfast and let's hope he wakes up by the time it arrives."

Aziraphale just nods. Bea is calm and swift and a bit scary, but… They don't seem to be judgemental.

They call for breakfast. Aziraphale gets dressed. He'll need to ask Crowley to drive him back to his flat for a few changes and books… Aziraphale sighs. He would love a book right now. There are some books he needs to return to the library, too. 

"Morning," Crowley greets. He takes a look at the food, which has just arrived, at Bea, who's devouring a bun and at Aziraphale. "I didn't even ask for your name," he says with shame and rubs his neck. The hotel bathrobe is too big on him. 

"Aziraphale Fell," Bea replies with their mouth full. "Sorry, didn't want to interrupt your ogling." They try to grin and fail.

Aziraphale shakes his head reproachfully and touches Crowley's shoulder. "Did you sleep well, my dear?"

"I… I did. Why?" Crowley is so surprised, he sits by the table.

"Just asking. Should I make you a plate?" Aziraphale sits next to him.

"No… no, there's nothing for me here. No apple sauce."

Bea stops eating and swallows loudly. "Sorry. I forgot to ask."

"Time away from me does you good," Crowley chuckles. 

"Yes, I've been having quite a lot of sex. Finally. That's why I prefer seedier establishments," they wink at Aziraphale. "They have this… forbidden, sinful atmosphere."

"Couldn't agree more, my dear," Aziraphale smiles. He calls the room service and gently asks for apple sauce. Then he looks at Crowley and adds, "Could you please make sure Mr Crowley gets some apple cinnamon tea as well? Oh, thank you so much. You really are a saviour."

Everyone is silent until the apple sauce and apple tea arrive. The man who brings it seems to be honoured to serve Aziraphale. 

"That was impressive. There, Crowley, see, you don't have to yell." Bea pours themself more coffee. 

"Oh, his yelling helped me quite a lot yesterday, I honestly think it's endearing." Aziraphale smiles at Crowley, then at Bea. 

"We're going to talk business for a bit," Bea informs. "It might be boring, so…"

"You can do whatever you want, angel," Crowley says as he accepts a cup of tea from Aziraphale. "How did you know?"

"You drank it yesterday. The smell is quite strong, dear boy, so…" And he smiles again, his eyes twinkle. Crowley seems to have frozen. "If you don't mind, I'll finish my breakfast and then I'll go home to pick some of my things."

"You can take my car," Crowley offers. Bea looks at him in shock. 

"I don't drive, I'm afraid. It's fine…"

"Then, maybe… you could… could stay and then I could drive you places?" Crowley sounds both apologetic and imploring. 

"Of course, my sweet. Thank you."

Aziraphale tunes out the conversation, which in the end proves to be more difficult than he expected, but the food is delicious, the best breakfast Aziraphale has had.

"Crowley, you need to do more peopling," Bea starts. It's obvious they've been having this conversation forever. 

"That's what I've been doing for two weeks!" Crowley argues.

"No, you've been running away crying. I know it's hard, Crowley, and I know you're angry that I say this. I can't be there with you, we agreed on it. You're mysterious enough without an agender companion. And I'm not pretty enough."

Aziraphale wants to interrupt, but instead gives Bea a naughty look. Bea is confused but then they brighten and gratefully nod.

"We've just made it big, Crowley, we're rich. We both know that we want to keep it that way… I can't babysit you, Crowley, we tried this and almost burnt our damn new house down. You're sure you don't want a caregiver?"

"I have Aziraphale."

"And he's a delight." Bea smiles at Aziraphale. "But he's not a caregiver either."

"It's paying for affection either way!" Crowley snaps. "I'm sorry, angel, I…"

"I'm not offended, darling. It's alright. It's not for everyone."

"You're a fucking angel and no one fucking deserves you."

"Language," Aziraphale chides and tucks a lock of Crowley's hair behind an ear… oh, what an ear. Aziraphale hasn't ever had a thing for ears, but Crowley's ears are delicate and almost translucent, their shape is perfect - and most importantly, Crowley shudders when Aziraphale's fingers ghost over his earlobe.

"It's a tick." Crowley shrugs uncomfortably.

"Oh, so sorry, my dear. Then do go on."

"I don't want a fucking caregiver. I don't need a caregiver."

"Whatever you say. I've arranged for a few parties and suchlike. Yes, Crowley, I agree, they should judge you by your professionalism alone, but… that's what people are like apparently. Wasn't that surprised, to be honest."

"Why, though? Why?" Crowley demands with a frustrated groan. "I saved quite a few companies and…"

"And they think it's eerie. Blasted fuckers, the lot of them. You need to be _a pleasure to have business with_. But if we do it, Crowley, if we build you an image of a reclusive genius, you'll never have to do that again."

"You promise?"

"I promise, Crowley."

Bea leaves right after that, having received numerous reassurances from Aziraphale that they don't need anything else and that Bea can go and do their own thing. 

"Too bloody good at their own thing," Crowley mutters.

"They seem to be very fond of you," Aziraphale says. He can't help but put his arm around Crowley's shoulders. The man is just as delicate as his ears and he appears so confused, as if he didn't have the slightest idea what to do with a bloody hug.

"I'm… it's nice. But…" He says finally. Aziraphale retracts his arm immediately. 

"Sorry, darling. I will ask in the future. How about that bath we didn't have yesterday?"

"I'll be naked."

"Makes sense," Aziraphale teases. "But I mean just the bath. Let me make one for you?"

"There are… I think there's at least one more bath in here, so… you feel free to use it."

"I will, darling."

"Then… I'll drive you… places. Do you want to go shopping? I hate shopping, but I need some appropriate clothes…"

"I'd be happy to help," Aziraphale promises.

***

The baths are taken, Crowley looks softer than before and they finally leave the Ritz. They are halfway to Aziraphale's flat when Crowley suddenly says, "Bea is an old friend. Very old. They protected me from bullies and I did their maths. And everything else. They suggested this career for me. We didn't expect anything like… like weeks at the Ritz. I think they are wrong about all… this. But their ideas are what got us here. We bought a house in South Downs, well, we built it. We tried dating. I'm… sex is… I'm curious about sex, I like watching porn. But other people, they… they wear socks. And underwear. They smell… strangely. They have all those spots and hair… I don't know how I feel about it, and…"

"Darling," Aziraphale puts a hand on Crowley's knee, just a quick touch. "You owe me no explanation. I'm honoured that you talk to me, but don't… don't force yourself."

"Moms told us we shouldn't have tried dating," Crowley continues after a minute of silence. "And Bea… they… they don't have to adapt to me, we're too different. We love our house, and it makes working easier, but each one of us has a life, and…"

He wants to reassure me, Aziraphale understands with fondness he hasn't expected. He thinks… Oh, foolish boy, he thinks I'm jealous. He's flirting.

Crowley parks the car - terribly - in front of Aziraphale's door. 

"Darling… darling, you're heartbreakingly handsome, and I mean it. It's not… I'm not sucking up. In any sense."

Both men giggle.

***

Tracy is delighted to see Aziraphale, she was worried about him. Aziraphale is in a bit of panic when he realises he can't just give her the check Crowley and Bea wrote for him, but Crowley immediately comes to his rescue, writes the check for Tracy and demands that Aziraphale keeps his own. 

"It's fine, angel. I can afford it. I can afford so much and I have no idea what to do with it!" 

"I could help," Tracy offers with a laugh. "Aziraphale, what a charming man you've found!"

"Oh no, Crowley has found me," Aziraphale clarifies. Crowley smiles and tries to hide the smile, then he remembers how he found Aziraphale and his face is suddenly all rage and sadness. 

"Anyway. My rent is covered."

"For two years." Tracy looks at the check in her hand again. 

"Yes. And I… I need some things and then we'll be on our way."

Aziraphale tugs Crowley to his flat. It's small but Aziraphale thinks it's cozy. It doesn't have as many books or knick-knacks as Aziraphale would have liked, but it's his place.

"It's… it's cozy," Crowley concludes.

"Yes, I think so myself. It's… it's mine."

"Do you think Tracy would agree to sell it to you? I could buy it for you!" 

"Darling, this is too much. You don't… you're a client."

Aziraphale regrets his words as soon as they leave his mouth, but it's the truth. 

"Can't a client be nice to you?"

"Hasn't happened in a while… No, darling, don't get angry. I'm old, I'm not what other people consider sexy, and…"

"Other people are dreadful. Wilde." Crowley replies.

"Oh, darling, you're perfect…" Aziraphale fights the urge to touch Crowley again. 

"And… even as a client… I… I appreciate your… your services. Fuck. Pack your things, angel."

Aziraphale does, at least he begins to pack, but Crowley reminds him about the shopping, so Aziraphale doesn't go over the top. He grabs the books he has to return to the library and asks Crowley if they could drive by it so that Aziraphale can return them. 

"Sure, angel. Absolutely."

***

Crowley is a hopeless shopper. He's stressed out immediately, so Aziraphale takes him to higher-end shops where they can have their own fitting room and no one dares bothering them. Everyone of course assumes that it's Aziraphale that's paying, and Crowley looks relieved.

And he thoroughly enjoys it in every shop, when he's the one pulling his card out. This way shopping turns into either trolling of the system or mischief or both and Crowley begins to enjoy it. He's being wonderfully obnoxious about it, he's looking for trouble, relaxes, smiles, sways his hips too much for Aziraphale's mind to handle it without spotting a hard on, but he's an old… goose. 

"Do geese have dicks?" Crowley asks, again reading Aziraphale's mind. "They need to. How else would they make more geese? We need a bookshop!"

Aziraphale wouldn't ever say no to a bookshop, and it's there where Crowley's mischief reaches new heights.

It's an antiquarian bookshop, the books here are precious, although all books are precious to Aziraphale, but Crowley… Crowley is fondling the books and turns the pages harshly, and the owner almost yells at Crowley - and scares Crowley. 

The young man takes a step back from the shelf he's been standing by and looks around in fear. Aziraphale can sense it, despite the sunglasses, despite Crowley's failing attempts at playing cool. 

"Young people these days!" The owner huffs to Aziraphale. "You spoiled him, sir, you did! Needed to spank him, like we did in the old days."

Aziraphale grabs Crowley's hand and pulls him closer. "Darling, what is your opinion on spanking? It'll cost you more to spank me, but I'd spank your lovely bottom for free." 

The owner pales and almost vomits. 

And Crowley… he beams at Aziraphale. "Angel, get us some good old books to do the spanking. I wouldn't mind being spanked with an inaccurate anatomy atlas."

They end up buying quite a lot of books. Aziraphale wouldn't spank anyone with them but no one needs to know that.

"You know," he purrs, leaning over to the owner, "I think you need to be spanked as well. No amount of money will persuade me to do the spanking, but who knows, maybe you are someone's naughty boy." Aziraphale winks at the man and leaves the shop. Crowley follows, loaded with their purchases and grinning like a loon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware. Some shithead tries to slutshame Aziraphale. He gets his comeuppance immediately.

Aziraphale is dressed impeccably. He's never had such good clothes, straight out of his favourite books. It takes some work and persuasion to get Crowley look the perfect man he is, but Aziraphale is patient and gentle, so when he's done, Crowley, who looks beautiful in everything, be it a bathrobe, a pair of tight jeans, a peacoat or nothing (Aziraphale presumes), looks sharper than a cleaver in a slasher movie.

Aziraphale has had his manicure done earlier, but Crowley refuses to let a stranger touch his hands with sharp instruments, so Aziraphale promises the manicurist a very good tip and sends him downstairs for a drink, while Aziraphale does Crowley's hands… Long fingers, pale skin, a slight tremble in the left hand, barely there thin red hair… Aziraphale feels as if he were worshipping Crowley's hands. He chases away any sexual thoughts, however difficult it is, because Aziraphale is a sensual man, and he likes Crowley far too much.

It's good they are going out tonight.

It's a fancy gathering at a fancy bar, Bea explains on the phone. All of the business elite will be there and Crowley just has to be handsome and let Aziraphale do all the charming. Aziraphale thinks he could do that - until he notices quite a few of his worst clients there. He's shaken, he doesn't want to see those men again, but when he looks at Crowley, he can't think of some privileged bastards. Crowley's in panic.

Aziraphale holds him, shielding him from the rest of the room. "Darling," he whispers. "Darling, what do you need? How can I help?"

"H-hold me. Don't… don't let go, please, don't let go and squeeze my hand."

Aziraphale does just that. He has one arm around Crowley's waist, and he firmly holds Crowley's hand. They look like a very smitten couple, and Crowley manages some mechanic small talk that Aziraphale smooths with his own remarks.

"So, you're the Crowley," says a smug voice behind them. The voice doesn't care that Crowley has been handling the conversation with someone else quite well. 

Crowley turns on his heels and takes in a tall handsome man. 

"And you have a slut for a boyfriend! Oh, you really are a recluse!" The man laughs. Aziraphale has heard worse and he has Crowley to hold, so he pays no attention to the man who once fucked his throat and arse so hard Aziraphale needed to swallow his pride and go to a hospital. "He's a cheap one," the man continues. "You should let me introduce you to… fresher faces. And other parts."

"Hmm," Crowley says. "So, let me get this as straight as I can. My  _ lover  _ is a very experienced sex worker, which means, I have the best, safest sex you might be capable of thinking about, but you seem to be incapable of thinking." Crowley is seething and his hands tremble, but he's being a smooth devil indeed. The man's face falls. "And seeing as he's a professional, he'd never need to tell me how small your dick is! I can figure it all out by myself just by looking at your fake purple eyes. Gabriel, isn't it? Don't remember your surname. I believe I made sure you went bankrupt just a year ago. Who's  _ your  _ sugar daddy? Who's so desperate for your not so fresh… parts?" 

The man scurries away, cursing. 

"Angel, angel, are you alright?" Crowley turns to Aziraphale. "Do you want me to have him killed? I'm sure I could do that. Financially, he must be fucking ruined…"

"I'm going to kiss you. You're sweet and you're feral and I want to kiss you. Your forehead will do just fine."

"Oh… ok, angel."

Aziraphale kisses his forehead. "What about your nose?"

"Go for my lips, angel. No tongue."

The no tongue thing is swiftly forgotten. Crowley pulls Aziraphale away and away, until Aziraphale stops him. "Darling… darling, you kiss so sweetly… You have a job to do. Let's get this over with… I could kiss you all night long, if you want, but we need to charm those people. Remember?"

"No," Crowley replies honestly and dives for another kiss. 

"You said no tongues," Aziraphale chides when they come out for air.

"You taste like apple sauce and I'm hungry," Crowley replies. 

"Oh… oh, darling, how could I have forgotten!"

"It's alright, angel. I felt full watching you eat. I might even… smell some of the food you like."

Aziraphale sends Crowley to the bathroom, and Crowley is too kissed to protest. While he's away, Aziraphale finds a phone and calls the Ritz, asking them to bring as much apple sauce as possible to their room.

When he's done, Crowley hasn't returned yet. Aziraphale needs to go and find him, and he does.

Crowley is trying to persuade Bea to kill Gabriel. The bathroom is empty, thankfully. 

"No… no, Bea, I know we're not  _ that  _ rich, but… He deserves it!.. You'd love to kill him yourself… No, it's not enough that we bankrupted him… What do you mean it has to be enough?"

Aziraphale snatches the phone from Crowley. "Bea, my dear, please, don't worry. There was a bit of an… altercation and Crowley took care of it… Of course he did it by legal means. Don't worry. Go have fun." He ends the call and looks at Crowley. 

"Darling… my beautiful, feral darling. Let's get back to the bar? I'm sure there's some apple juice to be found."

"Not fresh, though," Crowley grumbles. "Fresh apple juice tickles."

"We'll find something else. You can scare a barman into getting you some concentrated apple juice."

"Or you could, you know… charm them."

"Or I could charm them. Anything you need, darling. Come, I'll hold you and we will have…"

"Charm is the great English blight. It doesn't exist outside…" Crowley says, somewhat in trance. 

"Darling mine, you can't quote Anthony Blanche at me." Aziraphale could never resist temptation, so he allows himself to adjust Crowley's hair. Unnecessarily. 

"I can, my name is Anthony after all." Crowley shrugs and moves to leave the bathroom. 

"Anthony?" Aziraphale asks, catching up to him.

"You don't like it?"

"No! I didn't say that. Should I… should I call you Anthony?"

"Please, don't. I'm Crowley." And he smiles, for real.

***

They walk back to the Ritz. It's cold, yes, but Aziraphale isn't cold. He has his new cashmere coat, the colour of caramel, as Crowley said, and this coming from a man who refuses to even taste caramel.

Crowley is being eerie of course, because he's the smooth devil here and because Aziraphale had one gin-tonic which he really shouldn't have had.

"I'm glad you're warm, angel," Crowley says. "You know, I play the organ! Was Bea's present! That's why our house is so far from everyone. I  _ love  _ playing Friscobaldi to the trees around. Or Hans Zimmer. I love Hand Zimmer. Always imagine myself in space and wearing Batman's costume."

Aziraphale thinks that the barman mixed something into Crowley's juice. 

***

Back in their suite Crowley curls up on the sofa with the apple sauce. He looks feral and famished. He doesn't hear his phone ringing, so Aziraphale answers it.

"Hello, Bea. How are you?"

"Where's Crowley?"

"Eating. He's ravenous."

"Oh… you are really good for him, you know?"

Aziraphale looks at Crowley and doesn't reply.

"Anyway! You're the talk of the City! The most adorable couple ever. Aziraphale, I'm proud of you. Tell Crowley I'm proud of him too." 

They end the call.

"Angel?"

"Yes, darling?"

"I'm… I'm full. Could you… could you kiss me again?"

Aziraphale sighs. He could kiss Crowley forever, especially after all the apple sauce.

He carefully straddles Crowley. "Darling… are you sure?"

"Yes. Loved your tongue. I'm curious," Crowley replies seriously. 

Aziraphale kisses him, slowly. He's licking the apple sauce off Crowley's lips, gently pushes his tongue inside. No, no, no, this kiss can last forever, it's unlike any kiss he's ever had, and he's had a lot of kisses, but no one of his partners has been that soft and pliant, so… so curious. Crowley kisses like a passionate scientist. Aziraphale finds it… He can't get enough of it. He caresses Crowley's face and shoulders, pulls Crowley's hands to rest on his hips, and Crowley readily gropes Aziraphale - only to break the kiss.

"Sorry. Is that alright? The groping? Am I hurting you?"

"Kiss me again, idiot," Aziraphale demands and leans in to help Crowley fulfill his demand. 

"You're very pleasantly heavy, angel," Crowley comments. Aziraphale gives up on Crowley's lips in favour of Crowley's neck - and this too has to stop, because Crowley's lips are on Aziraphale's neck as well, and… and Aziraphale isn't easy to please, so how could it be that Crowley immediately finds that spot, right under Aziraphale's left ear and nips there. 

Aziraphale keens.

"Angel? Angel! You're alright? What have I done!?"

"Do… do it again. More."

Crowley does it again and more. He nips and sucks and bites and kisses. "It's… it's not that gross… I like how you taste."

"It's because of all the apple sauce, sweetheart, but… oh…" Aziraphale can feel his head falling backwards, he's offering himself to Crowley, he hasn't done it for some time, but he can't help it, can't help it…

"And… if you take your bowtie off, angel? And perhaps your shirt too?"

Aziraphale thinks it's not for long. It's just… it's something beautiful and peculiar. Something fragile and gentle. He can cherish it afterwards, but right now, he will enjoy it. He'll enjoy the kisses and the feeling, the touch of Crowley's hands on his skin…

But Crowley does something unbearable. It's worse than having his throat fucked, than being used and abused, it's a vulnerable thing, it's something about Aziraphale's mind, about his safe space. 

Crowley says, "Angel, do you just want to read? Books are better than people… do you want to get lost in a book?"

"Darling…"

"I mean… anything you want. I'd love to cuddle with you while you read, but you don't have to…"

When Crowley is asleep, drooling on Aziraphale's shoulder, Aziraphale allows himself to cry. All this is too good to be true, but it's the truest Aziraphale has ever experienced and he's scared of it and he can't get enough of it. 

Crowley mumbles something in his sleep and holds Aziraphale tighter. "Don't touch my angel," Crowley mutters. "No one touches my angel unless my angel wants it… Consent is crucial… Angel… Aziraphale."

Aziraphale can't sleep well that night. Crowley holds him through it, though, and when Aziraphale wakes up, there's breakfast waiting for him, and Crowley grins at Aziraphale from the foot of the bed. 

"You have stretch marks on your belly," Crowley says delightedly. "They are beautiful. I wanted to touch… but didn't want to wake you. I'm sorry. Am I gross?"

"Good morning to you too, dear boy. You're not gross. I might be gross but…"

Aziraphale gets a lapful of Crowley. "Angel… angel… I… you… it hurts how much I like you, angel." Crowley frowns. "And… and you're not gross. It's ok that you wear socks."

Aziraphale can only swallow around nothing and stare at Crowley. 

"Darling… darling, could you please… make me a cup of tea?"

"Sure, angel! How and which?"

"Just… the way you think I drink it," Aziraphale tries to tease. 

Crowley hums, focused and pensive. 

"Breakfast, splosh of milk, a teaspoon of sugar?" Crowley asks hopefully. 

"Yes, darling. That's exactly what I want."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

As Crowley busies himself with Aziraphale's tea, Aziraphale can feel it in his bones, can feel it just like he felt the cold on the night they met, just two days ago, what Crowley meant when he said  _ it hurts how much I like you _ .

Crowley sits next to Aziraphale cross-legged, holding two cups - one for himself and one for Aziraphale. "There, angel. It's raining outside. Should we read some more?"

"We should, darling. Don't we have somewhere to be today?"

Crowley scrunches his nose in distaste. "There's some… thing. I don't remember. Bea sent me the details. But it's in the evening… Unless you want to go out and, don't know, have lunch? We could go to the park and watch the ducks get wet… Wetter than usual. Imagine ducks with umbrellas!"

Aziraphale laughs. "We should make them some, shouldn't we, darling?"

"Yes. You're a treasure, angel," Crowley snuggles up with Aziraphale and sips his tea. He looks like a red-haired feral duck without an umbrella. Aziraphale wants to make him one. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: sexual content. We're earning that rating with... Unconventional sexual acts. Everything is consensual.

It's a charity event/dinner. People are supposed to donate for a good cause, so Crowley doesn't protest too much, although he does grumble a bit as Aziraphale is fixing his tie. 

"You look lovely, my dear," Aziraphale smiles at Crowley, taking in the sight of him in another fitting suit. "This velvet jacket is a miracle on you. Makes you look squishy."

"I'm not squishy. But you are, angel." Crowley moves to adjust Aziraphale's absolutely perfect bowtie but the gesture is tender, so Aziraphale doesn't argue. 

They hold hands all the way to the place, Aziraphale is tracing shapes on the back of Crowley's palm. Crowley's thin fingers feel right and strong in Aziraphale's soft and plump ones. 

"We'll get you a truck of hand cream tomorrow," Crowley promises out of the blue. 

"Why, my dear, I don't have enough hands for a truckful of hand cream."

"Humour me. I want you pampered. I'm ready to go into one of those smelly shops with you. I want to go there with you. Your eyes are bright when you're enjoying yourself."

Aziraphale can only sigh to that. "Thank you, darling. You're indeed spoiling me and it should be the other way around."

"There's no u-turn here," Crowley replies serenely. Their driver nods.

***

Aziraphale understands that this is a disaster the moment they are sat at a long table. There's nothing for Crowley to eat here, and Crowley is afraid of demanding apple sauce. He's determined to make Aziraphale proud, and Bea too, or so he says. 

"How about the soup, darling? It's soft and a bit too bland for my taste, but maybe it could be alright for you. Do you want a taste?"

Crowley nods. Aziraphale doesn't really care what other people think or might think. His darling is hungry and has no apple sauce, and all those business people should have trusted Crowley without having to take a look at him, although Aziraphale doesn't want to think of the time he won't be able to look at Crowley.

Aziraphale scoops some soup and offers the spoon to Crowley. "There, dearest. It's mostly pumpkin."

Crowley carefully tastes the soup. "Alright. Not bad. I'll have some."

Aziraphale waves a waiter away and pours Crowley a ladleful. Neither Aziraphale, nor Crowley notice how they are looked at - with awe, mostly, with envy, with delight. And there's one bigot, but the waiter entirely by mistake drops an oyster over his head. 

***

Aziraphale likes people, likes socialising, and it's been a while since he could do that much, so he talks and charms everyone, letting Crowley, who's had a bit too much soup and is drowsy, just stand next to him, hold his hand and praise him at every turn. Aziraphale thinks he makes up most of Crowley's working process, but then Crowley leans in and whispers into Aziraphale's ear, "That's just how it is. Am I that much of a stereotypical genius?"

"You guys are so sweet!" Says an important woman they are currently talking to. "It's not easy, maintaining such great relationship, what with the work and your intensity," she smiles at Crowley. 

"Well, I pamper Aziraphale as much as I can!" Crowley announces and blushes. It's about the first thing he's said tonight - the fact that Aziraphale made everyone either ignore or forget about.

"That you do, darling."

"Do you work, Aziraphale? I imagine you must be involved in something very intellectual." The woman seems to really like them. 

"I'm a sex worker," Aziraphale replies. He's not ashamed and neither should Crowley, who just turns to Aziraphale and smiles. 

"You are?" The woman asks. She's not shocked, or she hides it well, but her tone doesn't change. "Guys, then you're absolutely perfect. Frankly, Crowley doesn't seem like much of a conversationalist," she winks at Crowley, "but you must have a hell of understanding. It's sexier than anything I've seen… and I have a premium account on pornhub." She laughs. She's the mayor's business adviser. 

"Careful, dear, there might be dragons or reporters," Aziraphale says. 

"Well, surprise, I'm a hot-blooded woman. And my account is paid for by my husband."

"That's good pampering," Crowley decides. "Should we get one for ourselves, angel?"

Aziraphale laughs. "If you want, darling. But you have a professional all to yourself, so why bother?"

***

The evening is pleasant, overall, and Crowley is mostly relaxed, they even end up dancing - well, Aziraphale dances, Crowley does what Aziraphale calls _dance moves for a stick insect_.

And Aziraphale knows how to enjoy things while they last, so he doesn't let himself ponder over future. The Japanese have it right, he thinks and, as it turns out, says out loud. 

"They do. Future tense makes no sense. I shouldn't rhyme in public." Crowley sways a bit more gracefully now, after Aziraphale's guidance. 

"But we rhyme in public, my dear boy!"

"You're sassy. Makes liking you less hurtful. Angel?"

"Yes, my dear?"

"When we get back, can you… can you kiss me again? And touch me?"

Aziraphale smiles seductively, but it doesn't reach his eyes, and Crowley stops swaying. 

The music keeps playing, some people bump into them, to Crowley's disgust, and Aziraphale leads them away. 

"Let's get back, angel. Enough for today," Crowley says when Aziraphale finds them a quiet corner. 

The drive to the Ritz is silent. Crowley doesn't stop shifting. It's a bit maddening.

***

"Now listen," Crowley says the moment he closes the door behind them. 

"I'm listening, Crowley."

"You're sad. I… I…" Crowley takes a step closer to Aziraphale. "Hold me and I'll tell you, alright?"

"I… I'd rather not. You don't have to look at me…"

"I fucking know it! I'm trying to give you… intimacy, and I can't look you in the eye unless you want some creepy staring!"

"You're not creepy…"

"It's alright. It's fine. Listen…" Crowley takes a deep breath. "Whatever you want, I shall get you, shall give you, but I can't pretend or fake or anything… I… like you, a lot. You're… you're pulling me in and I want to… I want to be within the reach of your gravitational pull," Crowley manages. He rubs his neck, tosses his sunglasses aside and rubs his eyes too. "I'm shit at tricks, as I said, and… and… Aziraphale, could you please stay with me? You… you have a life, and… and I don't mean to take it away, but maybe… maybe I could stay with you? I'd get you a smartphone, you'd call me if you're ever cold and alone again. I'd come and pick you up. Can you… no. Can I stay with you? And if I can't… if I can't… I'd still get you a smartphone, I don't want you cold and alone again. Or hungry. I read people are afraid of admitting their feelings, I know, so I… I thought maybe all this fake shit, it will ease you up to… to me. But I want to be with you, anywhere you are. Wherever you are, I'll come to you. I promise."

There's a heavy silence. It's dark and Crowley can't see Aziraphale's face, he wouldn't dare look at him even if he could.

"Just please… don't leave right now. Please… it's cold there, I must have distressed you…" Crowley angrily wipes his tears. 

"Darling, you asked me earlier to kiss you…"

"You don't have to! You owe me nothing, I…"

"My _love_ , may I kiss you? On the lips, with quite a lot of tongue and maybe groping?"

"I… you, you want it?"

"I do, very much. Please, give me an answer, darling."

"Affirmative," Crowley answers.

They miss each other a bit - it is dark after all, but once Crowley catches Aziraphale's arm, there seems to be no letting go. Crowley's clothes are lost very soon, Aziraphale's clothes follow. For once, he doesn't care what happens to them. He might be naked for the rest of his life and he wouldn't mind and wouldn't be cold. He's always enjoyed what his body can let him experience - and detested it sometimes as well, but now he feels beautiful. No need for clothes, he feels a proper angel, stunning and perfect and protective and strong. 

"Could we… turn the lights on?" Aziraphale asks after he bumps into another coffee table or whatever it might be.

"Yes, sure. Where's the switch?"

"Alright, darling, fuck lights."

Crowley finds a switch by the time they reach their bedroom, it's even the right one, drowning the room in soft light. 

"What do you want, darling?" Aziraphale lays Crowley on the bed, that Crowley has left unmade and Aziraphale hasn't had the time to make. 

"I… I want more kisses. Tongue. Groping. Seems… seems fine. You're heaven to touch, angel."

"No weird hair?"

"No… and you totally rock your socks. Not irksome at all. Hate socks. But not your socks. Socks steal your feet. Can't even do a proper job, like trousers."

Aziraphale laughs into a sharp collarbone. "Fine, darling, I'm divesting you of those sneaky thieves. You look stunning in them, though."

"And people are cool about it!" Crowley sits up and caresses Aziraphale's curls. "They are like, hey, socks. They don't see it… Trousers and socks together - fine. Just trousers - teasing. Just socks - no!"

Aziraphale doesn't find this rant funny. He knows it is, somewhat, but he can't find it in himself to laugh. He helps Crowley out of the Ocean's Two - trousers and socks - and looks up at Crowley. 

"I want to touch you," Crowley asks. "Please."

"Alright. Do you want me naked?"

"As… as you like it."

"Not my favourite play."

"Well, I prefer the funny ones, angel."

Aziraphale lies down next to Crowley. Crowley runs his hands up and down Aziraphale's flanks, leans down to kiss a stretch mark. "Is this alright?"

"It is, darling. Glacial, but alright."

Crowley hums - and licks from Aziraphale's navel up to his neck.

"Now this is very fast for a glacier. May I touch your hair?"

Crowley nods. Aziraphale runs his fingers through Crowley's hair, soft and fluffy. Crowley almost purrs, so Aziraphale does it again, until Crowley collapses over him and just lets Aziraphale pet his hair. 

"Angel, do you think you could get naked, after all? I… want to look at you? Am I a creep?"

"No, darling, you're not. You'll need to get up, though."

Crowley gets up and watches Aziraphale undress. He doesn't make a show of it, just hastens to get naked. It feels so very good to get naked for Crowley… Feels special. 

Aziraphale lies back, an arm behind his head. "There, darling."

Crowley nods and… looks. He lets himself a touch every few moments, always looking up at Aziraphale to check. 

"I like the way you look at me," Aziraphale whispers. "I don't think anyone has looked at me like that."

"I don't want to think about… anyone who's not you. Would you turn around?"

Crowley doesn't make a comment about Aziraphale's erection, Aziraphale's crotch doesn't get as much of his attention as Aziraphale's chest and shoulders do. 

Aziraphale turns around. 

"Oh fuck… I didn't know backs could be so… sexy." Crowley touches Aziraphale's back - and stops. "Alright?"

"Yes, darling. I'll stop you, if it's not alright."

Crowley caresses Aziraphale's back, rubs his face between Aziraphale's shoulderblades. "Thank you, angel."

Crowley's hands move down Aziraphale's body, reach his arse. He strokes the soft skin there, gropes lightly, parts the arsecheeks.

"I'm sorry," Crowley says again. Aziraphale lifts himself on his elbows and looks back.

"For what?"

"I… I watch you. And touch you. It's… is it good? You don't get anything from it…" Crowley's fingers touch the soft hair surrounding Aziraphale's hole. "It's objectifying, isn't it… but… I… you look so…" 

Suddenly Crowley places a soft kiss on Aziraphale's hole. Aziraphale's breath hitches. "Darling…"

"Angel," Crowley moans and turns ravenous. He eats Aziraphale out with abandon and devotion and every cliche Aziraphale can think of, but he can't think for long. He loves rimming, but he hasn't been on the receiving end of it as often as he'd like. Judging by Crowley's moans and growls, he intends to stay there for sometime. 

"I… you're… oh, fuck, I want you so much," Crowley says when he comes up for breath. "Can I… you alright? Not… not grossed out? I'm not grossed out. It's… it's you."

"Darling, shut up and please continue."

Crowley dives back. He's prodding, licking, sucking, his touch is soft and careful, his tongue is hot, too hot perhaps, but Aziraphale doesn't remember the last time someone ate him out all too well.

"Add a finger," Aziraphale asks through his teeth.

"Shouldn't… we need lube, no?"

"For now, your saliva is enough and you're driving me crazy." Aziraphale drops his head on the pillow.

Crowley holds him down, or maybe that's what he should be doing, but instead his hands just rest on Aziraphale's arse, pulling the cheeks apart to allow himself to breathe. There's one long middle finger at Aziraphale's hole, a sound of wonder and awe from Crowley's lips. "Angel… angel, I…"

"What is it, darling? What is it? You alright?"

"I want to spit into your hole. I don't know why. Feels… intimate. I don't know! I'm a pervert…" Crowley definitely intends to get away, but Aziraphale manages to catch him into a gentle hug.

"Darling… darling… Crowley?"

"Ngk?"

"Crowley, please, would you spit into my hole? This might be the hottest thing ever and I can't believe I never wanted it. Or considered it. Please, do it, darling."

"Ok… ok. If you…"

"Yes, I do want it."

"Do you want me to do something about your cock?" Crowley is crying again, but he does his best to wipe it away with his hand. 

"Darling, I don't need to come to have fun. Actually, no one does, it's just a nice feeling, it is… I'll explain it to you later, could you please…"

"Yes." 

Aziraphale returns to lie on his front, Crowley spreads his arsecheeks again - and he licks and kisses, and then there's a wet feeling… Crowley's saliva dripping off his mouth and inside Aziraphale. He can hear Crowley gather more and spit, truly spit this time. Aziraphale hasn't felt that intimate with anyone and hasn't felt that cherished ever. Oh, it's going to be a shame to ask Crowley to spit into his arsehole… it sounds strange and still describes the act of the utmost tenderness and trust. 

"Can I… with my finger?"

"Yes, darling, it feels well enough, but the lube is…"

"Not leaving you."

"You don't have to, right now… ah." Crowley's finger is inside, prodding and apparently searching in an entirely wrong direction. 

"Crowley, if you're looking for my prostate, it's… a bit of the other way round? More towards the stomach."

"Oh fuck… I'm sorry."

"No, no, it's fine, you're… Darling, I want to see your face. I want to turn onto my back."

Crowley retracts and waits, hands on his knees. 

"I didn't tell you how beautiful you are, my love." Aziraphale pulls him down into a hug. "And you are exceptionally beautiful. And cold." Aziraphale gets the blanket over them both. 

"Can I?.. again?" Crowley asks.

"As much as you like."

Crowley might like forever but it's hard to breathe under the blanket, so he emerges soon and gasping. 

"I… need… air." He looks disheveled and a bit scared by the lack of air. 

So they hold each other, Crowley breathes heavily, Aziraphale rubs his back.

"You… one doesn't have to come every time?" Crowley asks.

"It's individual, darling. Some people chase their orgasms down…"

"And you?" Crowley interupts. 

"And I love it when it takes time. I love the process more…"

"Alright. What do you… where?" Crowley is half asleep. 

"Sleep, my sweet Crowley."

"No, tell me. I want to… to make it last and good and just how you like it."

"You're asleep, love."

"Must be… angel… you're my love too."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: sexual content.
> 
> Also, I thought I could imagine luxury, but turns out I can't. Royal suite at the Ritz is... Obnoxious? Unnecessarily posh? Who needs so much space in a hotel? But let's imagine I'm making more sense than those who indeed pay that sort of money for that sort of a temporary accommodation.  
> Spoiler: Crowley doesn't, bc he's a smooth devil 😈

Apple sauce is all good but not as nutritious as it should be, Aziraphale thinks. Crowley is asleep on Aziraphale's stomach, which somehow happened during the night, and he's drooling of course, and his ribs show. Aziraphale is playing with Crowley's hair.

He thinks about various foods that might resemble apple sauce…

There's a phone on the nightstand, but Aziraphale needs to shift a little to get to it. Crowley mutters, "Don't go, angel… it's cold outside. Don't go…" 

Aziraphale shushes him. Crowley grabs Aziraphale's thigh and rests his head there. "Don't go, don't go… please, don't go."

"Darling, I'm right here. I want to order us some food, that's it."

"Ok, ok, good. You get food… Rhyming in public…"

"It's fine, sweetheart, we aren't in public."

"Can't sleep in public either. Angel…"

Aziraphale is quiet for a few moments, letting Crowley fall fully asleep again, then he makes the call. "Hello, good morning… yes, indeed. My name is Aziraphale, I'm staying with Mr Crowley. Could I please speak with someone who… does the cooking? I understand that it's not the easiest request…" He goes on, he's good at gentle persuasion, perhaps because he doesn't see it as persuasion, so he's not at all surprised when his call is redirected to the kitchen.

Aziraphale asks for vispipurro. The chef - and he's talking to the chef - hums and suggests another place in London that might be persuaded to do delivery.

By the time Crowley awakes, there's a tray at the ready, tea and apple sauce - and vispipurro.

"Good morning, my darling. May I kiss you?" Aziraphale moves back to the bed.

"I stink," Crowley sticks his tongue out. 

"No, darling, you smell human. I'm difficult to gross out. Always have been."

"Then kiss away, angel," Crowley grins and leans to meet Aziraphale halfway to his lips. 

They kiss for a few moments, it's softer than apple sauce and vispipurro combined, despite their unshaved faces. 

"We should get you a bathrobe like they have in period movies," Crowley says. "A… a… a schlafrock."

"I'd love a _schlafrock_." Aziraphale giggles. "But first, we'll eat. Darling, I took the liberty of ordering you something different. Had to take your card to pay for it." Aziraphale blushes. It's not his best moment, but he so wants Crowley to eat well!

"We should get you your own. We'll do it today. I doubt I will like it…" Crowley looks almost guilty. 

"No, love, it's… why don't you have a taste?" Aziraphale offers him a spoonful of vispipurro. "It's Finnish porridge with some berries."

Crowley carefully eats - his eyes blow wide and he grabs the bowl and practically devours the meal. 

"Alright. We'll order more of it." Aziraphale laughs. 

"It's perfect! What is it? No, don't tell me. Never been to Finland."

"Neither have I, love. Something to look forward to, isn't it?"

"So… so you're staying?"

"I am, darling. Are you staying?"

"Yes! Yes! We'll figure it out, I promise, I'll do anything…"

"Shhhh, my love. I know we will. I know you will, and I'll be there when you do."

"It's so good to be a fool, like us, isn't it?" Crowley asks sagely.

"It's good to be us." Aziraphale smiles at him. "Does Bea have anything planned for us today?"

"Yes. But it's in the evening as well, so we have time."

Aziraphale happily settles next to Crowley with his own tray. Crowley looks at Aziraphale, watches him eat and kisses the crumbs from his lips. Aziraphale might be eating a bit more messily once he discovers the pattern.

Crowley holds on to him, and he's changing like a confused chameleon tossed into a rainbow. He's soft and pliant one moment and verging on panic the next. 

"Darling, what is it? You're… restless?"

"Sometimes I think the whole world is conspiring against me and everyone lies," Crowley replies through gritted teeth. 

"Sweetheart…" Aziraphale carefully shifts and offers an embrace. 

Crowley shakes his head. His eyes have gone glassy and scared. 

"Sweetheart, do you want me to call Bea? Or… maybe… you mentioned your moms?"

"I… I need to…"

Aziraphale can't stop looking at him. "Crowley, my Crowley, my beautiful bright knight, can you please come back to me?" He finally asks.

Somehow it helps, Crowley snaps back. "Sorry…"

"Shhhh. Oh dear, I shush you a lot. It's fine. Thank you for coming back."

"Are you cold, angel?" 

Aziraphale isn't. 

"I'm not. If you want to warm me, I wouldn't mind."

Crowley gathers the blanket around them, almost knocking over Aziraphale's breakfast tray. "Should we head to a smelly shop afterwards?" Crowley asks.

"No, you won't like it. How about we just stay in and mostly naked? There are books and tea and what else might we need?"

***

They do just that for an hour or so. 

"You smell so good," Aziraphale can't help saying in the end. "I can hardly concentrate on the book, darling. Stop smelling so good," he teases gently. 

"I smell of you, I suppose. Can I straddle you?" 

"You can, darling. Come on." 

Crowley straddles him, they look at each other. 

"Can you put your hands on my hips?" Crowley asks.

"Of course." Aziraphale does so. Crowley's hips are sharp and thin. He'll have to have a word with about everyone in Crowley's life who let him look like a stick insect, although admittedly a very good looking one. 

"Are you really alright… No, you told me you are… I like looking at you, angel."

"The feeling is mutual, Crowley." Aziraphale allows himself to cup Crowley's face. "I think you're beautiful."

Crowley hugs Aziraphale, covering him with his body, resting his head on Aziraphale's shoulder. 

"Darling, it's… it's lovely here and I do like it here…. won't we be better at my place, though?" Aziraphale pets Crowley's hair. 

"No, I like it now. It has you and you like it." 

Crowley means to say something else, but his phone starts buzzing. He makes a move to grab it without leaving the comfort of Aziraphale's embrace. 

"Yes, Bea?.. Oh, fine." He puts Bea on the speaker and lies back on Aziraphale's shoulder. 

"You guys, are fucking incredible!" Bea yells. "You turned the entire business world into gossipers and softies! Every business media today is waxing poetic about you! There are several think pieces about… actually, never mind. Aziraphale, how many times have you mentioned me?"

Aziraphale opts for kissing the top of Crowley's head before he answers, "I might have. Once or twice. You deserve all the recognition, my dear."

"I have plenty of it now, you bastard!" Bea laughs. "We've been approached by various firms but now everyone wants to buy us! Silly people."

Crowley smiles up at Aziraphale. 

"Crowley, we wasted too much money on the Ritz and I'm forever indebted to your mental health… but hey, you got Aziraphale."

"I'm not going to be too sappy," Crowley promises. "It would be banal."

"Oh, come on, Crowley you're sappier than anyone I know." Bea giggles.

"Bea, you hang out with doms, mostly."

"Doms can be very sappy," Aziraphale informs. 

"Anyway. Your job here is done. I cancelled all your appearances on the grounds that you have to pamper your partner and I didn't mean myself. I'm going home in a few days, see you there."

Bea ends the call before they can be thanked.

Crowley hums. And makes some noises. 

"I want to eat your arse again because we can go home now. Mine, yours, doesn't matter. Do you want us to find a place here?"

"You're spitting into my arse first, darling. You're my kink from this day forth."

Crowley is delighted and so enthusiastic that he falls off the bed, but he recovers quickly. 

No one should produce that much saliva, Aziraphale thinks, and it's his last conscious thought for quite some time. Crowley is eating him out with the same passion and hunger, it's all wet and sloppy, Aziraphale can only moan… It's been years and years since he had an attentive lover, but Crowley isn't just attentive. He's hyperfocused, he's tender, he's… he's impossibly generous with his caresses. 

Aziraphale can feel a heavy pressure in his very bones, he's harder than he can remember himself being.

"Darling… darling, I want to come. Could you do something for me?"

Crowley emerges from between Aziraphale's legs, his face wet with spit and sweat, his hair a mess. "Yes, angel?" 

"I want to touch myself and I want you to watch me and hold me as I do so. Could you do it?"

"I need to get you lube?" 

"No, love, your mouth will do, but… ohhh," Aziraphale can barely breathe, Crowley's mouth is over his cock, getting it wet and tingly. 

He shifts and crawls up to hold Aziraphale around the shoulders, his eyes are on Aziraphale's hand, he's watching it with rapture, turning his head to look at Aziraphale's face every now and then. 

"Can I… could you… I want to touch you too. Just… maybe my hand over yours, angel?"

Aziraphale takes Crowley's hand and wraps it around his cock, covers it with his own, and they tug and pull together. 

"Oh… oh darling, you're so good… you're so, so good, love. Love…" He groans until his throat is hoarse, his climax is almost violent in its intensity - but Crowley is holding him through it, whispers sweet nonsense and mirrors Aziraphale's groans…

"And you, my love? Oh."

Crowley follows Aziraphale's gaze and sees that he has come too. 

"Oh, love… so sensitive, so lovely." Aziraphale kisses Crowley's forehead. "Precious and beautiful and… Crowley."

"Flat hunting," Crowley offers. "Let's… let's find a place for us."

"You have a brand new house, darling," Aziraphale reminds. 

"But your life is here! And… and… you like luxury. You deserve it. I… how can I give it to you?"

"Crowley, how about… how about we… Just… just let's stay together, alright? If you're ok with a jobless partner, then I can… retire."

"Do you want to retire?" Crowley kisses Aziraphale's shoulder and neck. 

"I never thought about it. Do you think..?"

"I think you do whatever you want, angel. Just… let me be… with you."

"You're my kink, Crowley, you're definitely staying."

Aziraphale looks around. This place is everything he's ever dreamed of but he's getting tired of it. 

"Darling, how about we get you home?"

***

Crowley settles the bill with a flourish. Aziraphale is horrified when he catches a glimpse of the sum.

"Darling, how are you not financially ruined is beyond me." 

Crowley snorts. He takes Aziraphale's hand the moment they sit in Crowley's car. "I hardly believed it myself at first. It's only been like that for a couple of years. Bea made sure I'm very expensive because I'm absolutely independent, and I do notice things others don't… By the time I'm finished they want to double my fee…"

"Smooth devil indeed. And aided by an even smoother one."

"And with the Ritz… Yes, that was the bill. I saved them from a rather silly situation. To make a long story short, their audits have been terrible, one thing led to another…" Crowley isn't making much sense but he's driving as well, so Aziraphale is alright with it all. "There was a long and complicated scheme involved. They paid me handsomely and offered me a stay in the royal suite. Made me sign a non-disclosure agreement of course, but this morning they thought that bribing me with a free stay should silence me even better… I'd say it won't be long before they call me again. Good for us," Crowley turns his head to smile at Aziraphale. "Where to, angel?"

"South Downs."

"Sure?"

"Yes, Crowley, very much so."

Crowley grins and drives faster


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short and fluffy and sweet. The next chapter will be pure smut.

The building is very modern and clearly it houses two very different people who somehow still make it work, or so it seems to Aziraphale. Crowley drives terribly, but it's worth it because Crowley has been holding Aziraphale's hand all the way. They barely talked, and yet it was intimate and sweet…

The ground floor is all black concrete and narrow windows like in a fortress. That's Bea, Aziraphale learns. 

Above that fortress there's a construction of glass and steel that looks as if it's floating. It's a flying conch, a mirage, something impossible. 

And all of this together is not that big.

"I believe you mentioned the organ," Aziraphale says.

"Well, it takes an entire wall and goes through the entire building. Bea likes how I play, so… perhaps it wasn't the gift just for me." Crowley shrugs.

"Will you play for me, darling?"

"I surely will, but first, we need to make a place for you here."

Crowley has an entrance of his own, _I planned the whole thing. Designed and so forth… the man who installed the organ didn't believe I took care of the acoustics! I have ten degrees and four of them are in physics._

"And the other six, darling?" Aziraphale can only sit and watch as Crowley puts Aziraphale's books, the ones they bought together _but we'll bring all your books here, if you want_ , on their shelves, as he puts Aziraphale's clothes and toiletries in order. 

Crowley's part of the house is mostly open space, but there are clear areas and… and it's all clever and well-planned. The organ pipes take up the entire wall indeed, but the light is flowing into the place in between the metal. 

Crowley is flowing about just like the light, swift, quick, concentrated - glancing at Aziraphale every now and then. 

There's a huge bed, there's a fireplace that looks like anything but a fireplace, there's a kitchen, tiny and certainly never used. There's a huge sofa and an equally huge TV in front of it. The endless windows are full of light, so much light, and it's turning yellow and orange and pink and purple as the sun begins to set. 

And there's Crowley who put it all together, Crowley of the ten degrees, Crowley who seems to know everything about everything and doesn't show off the way Aziraphale would have expected a man like him to do. 

And there's Crowley who brought Aziraphale here, made a space for him and is chattering something about talking to Bea, so that they could help Aziraphale set up a website, if he wants, so that he doesn't have to work that corner, if he wants, and _if he wants…_

Crowley keeps talking, it's a stream of ideas, and he's so thin, Aziraphale has to find out what else he might want to eat, because it's unhealthy. Maybe he needs some vitamin pills or something of the kind…

"Darling. Darling?"

"Yes, angel?"

"I love you. I don't want a website. I might advertise with Tracy's help, but… if you let me take care of you, Crowley, I trust you to take care of me."

Aziraphale is standing in the corner, and Crowley is approaching him slowly and carefully. 

"You… didn't you like your job?" He holds Aziraphale, it's the first hug Crowley initiates outside of the bedroom or a stressful setting.

"I did. I also liked that I could bring solace and pleasure to people who were otherwise rejected by… by almost everyone! I could ask Tracy to recommend me to those who still feel that way… but other than that… if… if we're together, I…"

"I want to take care of you, angel. I'd love it if you only took on the clients who… who appreciate you. May I ask that you… you always spend the night with me? I don't care when you come home, just want to wake up with you… if it's…"

"Yes, darling, you can ask and I will always be next to you when you wake up. I won't let anyone else cover me in saliva."

"Angel, you're shaming me!"

"No, I love you. There are things… there have always been things I wouldn't want to do with any client. Admittedly, I never thought that _this_ would be what I'd want, but… but I love you, darling."

"I won't be a sap," Crowley swears and holds Aziraphale closer. "I won't…"

"Of course, darling, the big bad business demon that you are…"

Crowley's fridge is full of apple sauce, so Aziraphale demands that Crowley drives them to the village. 

Crowley doesn't even need demanding, he rushes to the car immediately. He isn't interested in anything, but he tails after Aziraphale like a loyal knight that he is. 

Aziraphale fills their cart with apples, sugar and cinnamon, with milk powder, a few kilos of semolina and frozen berries; he gets tofu, polenta and the best blender the local supermarket can offer. It's something he'll have to research. 

"What's all this, angel?"

"I'm going to feed you, Crowley. Your ribs are as sexy as the rest of you, darling, but I'm not supposed to see them when you drool all over me."

"Skeletons are not sexy," Crowley whispers, as if remembering something. 

"You're a very sexy skeleton, my love, but your ribs are more… teasing, when I have to… look for them."

"No tickling!"

"Absolutely no tickling, darling. Can I… can I kiss you?"

"In public?.. Yes, angel, kiss me in public!" 

Aziraphale kisses him in public. They don't get hissed at, at least Aziraphale thinks so, and even if they were… it's Crowley. There's no thrill with Crowley, it just feels right. 

***

Aziraphale learns to use the internet, mostly to research the topic of apple-sauce-like foods. Somehow he's quickly the star of several forums for the parents of the autistic children. 

He shows it to Crowley, confused. 

"Ok, angel, what are you doing there?.. My moms might want to use it… oh please, don't show it to them, you cook so much better!" 

"Love, I need a word with your moms. It won't be a good word."

"Don't be a bastard, angel." Crowley is still staring at the page on Aziraphale's laptop - Aziraphale has a laptop now. Oh, and all of his books are here as well. Aziraphale has discovered online shopping too, so the number of books is growing. Aziraphale makes sure to buy enough books for Crowley as well. Crowley is very partial to eels, although he refuses to taste them. 

Bea, as it happens, loves their unagi rolls, so when Crowley is busy ruining/rescuing another firm, Bea and Aziraphale enjoy their sushi. 

Aziraphale proves to be a master of turning everything with nutritional value into a puree, sandwich, crisps and on one memorable occasion, a burrito. Internet is weird and lovely.

Every time Bea leaves, they tell Aziraphale to use the organ appropriately, which Aziraphale thinks to be some Bach and Bea later explains to be sex. Well, that's a fantasy for another day. 

Aziraphale wants to meet Crowley's mothers first. 

***

They drive to Cambridge one day. Both mothers teach there, number theory and number theory respectively, as Crowley puts it. 

"So…" Crowley says once they enter his mothers house. "This is my mother. And this… is my mother."

There are two women they are facing. One is curly and grey-haired and the other is curly and brown-haired. Both wear t-shirts with the first and the second hundred digits of Pi. Aziraphale finds it incredibly romantic.

***

Oh, and lest we forget, Aziraphale gets some very sweet clients whom he teaches the joys of mid-afternoon sex, because he has his darling to get back to. 

He also tells them that Pi is the most romantic thing in the world. 

It gets him more clients. Crowley is worried that he might stop being the most important breadwinner. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: sexual content, extreme levels of softness, you'll never look at organ the same way again.

"So, you're a sex worker. We need a new vibrator." The grey-haired mom, Ela, she doesn't waste her words.

"I can't recommend anything that doesn't involve a prostate." Aziraphale knows when to admit his defeat. "But Tracy, she should know!"

Aziraphale's old flat is the place where he receives his clients now and when one day he meets Crowley's moms as they leave Tracy's flat he's very misunderstanding about why they don't want  _ boy  _ to see them leaving.

"He's a grownup!" Aziraphale argues at the door. 

"Yes. But he's a grownup with you! With us… he's boy. A boy. The boy. Damn articles!" Leah doesn't like articles. She never uses them well and Aziraphale isn't enough of a bastard to point it out. It would be very tiring, to be honest.

Besides, Aziraphale has to turn tofu into a porridge, he has to make that meat souffle he has read about and he's adamant about making Crowley eat carrot sticks when he wants to smoke - and when Crowley smokes he chews his cigarettes until they burn his lips.

***

Most of Aziraphale's sex life is about his clients. He does love his job. He loves giving pleasure, especially now when his clients are appreciative and gasping at every move of Aziraphale's tongue - and Aziraphale is very good with his tongue.

He loves the weight of a cock in his mouth, he loves the taste and scent of semen, he thoroughly enjoys being fucked. 

Yet what he enjoys even more is when Crowley spreads his arsecheeks and licks him there. "You don't smell… different."

"I washed, darling."

"I… thank you, angel. I love you…" Crowley licks and kisses Aziraphale. He's irked by every hint of someone else, but it's because he doesn't know the smell. Once Aziraphale gets a few regular clients, Crowley gets used to it too. Aziraphale's only wish is that Crowley ate tofu with the same fervour he eats Aziraphale out with. 

***

"Boy gained weight. Thanks," Ela says during one visit. 

Aziraphale is very proud. He doesn't care about his online reputation and shares this on one of the forums he's the star of. 

He doesn't want to think about it, but somehow he gets a few more regulars and so does Tracy. 

***

"What does it feel like, angel? If I may ask… when you're… with your clients?" Crowley is holding Aziraphale and his ribs don't show. Aziraphale loves him so, so much. Aziraphale hasn't been cold since the night he met Crowley. He hasn't been hungry or lonely or desperate. His darling makes his life easy and pleasant. 

"Well… I like their cocks. It might sound ugly, but… they are heavy in my mouth. I like the gasps and screams of pleasure… it's selfish, I suppose, but I like it that I bring them pleasure… fulfillment. They smell of… need. And sweat. I told you, darling, I'm hardly ever grossed out. I'm never grossed out! I… I appreciate the smells… I know them by smells now."

"And how… how do I smell?"

Aziraphale thinks about his answer for so long that Crowley falls asleep, thinking that Aziraphale has fallen asleep.

"You smell like home. You smell… you smell clean, darling. You smell like a platonic ideal of smell… You smell like me, of course. You even sometimes taste like me… I can't stop thinking of how you eat me out. Do I make sense, love?"

"Yeah, a lot of sense." Crowley pauses. "I read about fingering."

"Darling, you offend me! Don't you trust my professionalism?" Aziraphale teases. 

"I fingered myself," Crowley admits. "I didn't like it. I thought… what if I like it more, if you do it?"

"Do you want me to do it?"

"No." Crowley looks aside, but he's resting upon Aziraphale so it's just looking at Aziraphale's shoulder instead of the corner of Aziraphale's mouth. 

"Then I don't want to do it either."

They leave it there. 

Well, they try to, but Crowley asks another question. 

"Could you tell me how it is when you're fingering someone? Or are being fingered?"

"When I finger someone, it's hot, in every way. I like to… feel the warmth of the body, the way it tries to both push me away and pull me in. I like the feeling of someone's pleasure right on the tips of my fingers, literally. And when I'm being fingered… oh, it can be so good, darling! That same pull and push, the sensation of something inside me… something naughty and curious and searching."

"I couldn't find your prostate."

"So what? It's alright… can I tell you something else?"

"Anything, angel."

"I like being… played with. When I'm teased, when my cock is played with. I like the curiosity of sex… the way it makes a scientist of anyone, as well as a lover. I like being touched… strangely, you know? In the places where I wouldn't think to touch myself, and sometimes it's… wonderful."

"Sometimes?"

"I couldn't afford to be picky with the clients before we met."

Crowley knows it or at least he thought so, but the rest of the night he covers every inch of Aziraphale in kisses and Aziraphale has learned enough about Crowley to know that Crowley's imagination is making him think of far worse scenarios than the ones Aziraphale has experienced, according to Aziraphale.

"I'll find them all and I'll kill them all," Crowley sobs into the crease of Aziraphale's belly. "I'll kill them all, all of them…"

My darling, murderous intentions are not my kink."

Crowley stops his threats but keeps crying. It's strikes Aziraphale suddenly that Crowley doesn't care if something is real or imagined. He feels it just the same, and no matter what Aziraphale tells him, which he doesn't want to do, Crowley will still feel it deeper and harder than Aziraphale might have ever had. There's no way out of that nutshell, Aziraphale thinks, and trying to make that way out would be as impossible as trying to play the piano the way one plays the lute. 

But Crowley likes it when Aziraphale kisses all over his face, and so Aziraphale decides to do just that. He holds that fragile head in his palms, he tries not to ponder about the vast universe inside it, and he kisses and kisses and kisses Crowley's face, until all he can taste is the bitter salt of Crowley's tears. 

The next day, when Crowley teaches Aziraphale to play go, Aziraphale learns that Crowley has an epic saga about each game he had played. Each faceless stone, black or white, has a history, for Crowley. 

Aziraphale doesn't think he could love him anymore, but he loves him even more somehow. Aziraphale's vast expanding universe is inside his heart. He's capable of love, he's always known it, but he discovers new ways of love and new ways of falling, despite the fact that no one can ever fall in space. 

***

Crowley is playing the organ. He's actually playing Gershwin on the organ. 

Aziraphale sits next to him and listens for awhile. 

"I want to kiss you under your ear, darling. May I?"

Crowley nods, somewhat distractedly.

His distraction grows when Aziraphale kisses him behind his ear, nips there carefully, licks around the translucent shell. Before long Crowley is moaning and Gershwin is forgotten.

"I'm going to seat you on the organ and kiss you on the lips. Tongue and all. I want to suck you off as well," Aziraphale warns. 

"Information overload." Crowley pants. "But go on."

Aziraphale does. Crowley, his beautiful Crowley is a snake, judging by the way he's squirming in Aziraphale's arms, begging for more. The sounds the organ is making are chaotic and loud, although Crowley seems to be oblivious to them, and as for Aziraphale, he doesn't care much. Crowley's legs are over his shoulders and Crowley consents to being sucked off. 

It's so different to the way Aziraphale blows his clients - Crowley is moving far more, for a start. And he's gasping and whispering Aziraphale's name. He doesn't know what to do with his pleasure, and oh, he's enjoying himself so much… Aziraphale wants it forever, the way Crowley's cock feels and tastes in his mouth. The way Crowley screams when he comes, trembling and overwhelmed.

Aziraphale scoops him in an embrace and holds him tight, as the waves of shock and pleasure fade into ripples, until Crowley is still and clinging to Aziraphale for dear life. 

"You alright, angel?" Crowley asks finally.

"I'm perfectly fine, my love… how are you?"

"I'm… I'm perfectly fine as well, angel. Do you… what would you like for yourself now?"

"I could tell you, darling. Do you want me to tell you? Do you want me to touch myself as I'm telling you?"

Crowley eagerly nods but insists on moving to the bed, and once there, he straddles Aziraphale and looks at him with so much care and attention and intensity, that it's a miracle the air around them isn't burning. 

"I'd take you slowly," Aziraphale begins and touches himself, just a little pull on his cock. "And I want you to know… whatever I imagine… it's a fantasy. A play. You don't have to live up to it, ever. You're there and that's enough. If I'm talking about something you're uncomfortable with, please, stop me."

Crowley nods. His palms are on Aziraphale's tummy, careful and soft. 

"I'd take you slowly, my love. I'd like to feel you inside and out… I think I'd tease your prostate from the outside first… I'd push and kiss there. Your skin is so soft under your balls and on your perineum. I'd like to think that I could make you so pliant in my arms that you'd let me try and prepare you for me. My fingers might tremble too much, so I'd use a plug, something soft and short… it would take me so long to open you, but you'd be happy in my care, you'd trust me…" Aziraphale has to close his eyes for a moment and slow down the movements of his fist. When he looks at Crowley again, he's watching Aziraphale's hand and his breath is heavy. 

"You'd trust me to open you… I want to lick inside you, taste you and show you how much I care for you, how much you mean to me. You'd be sweaty, darling, so I'd wipe you dry and clean with a warm towel. And… and I'd slide inside you eventually, all of my cock… I want you to ride me. I'd like you to ride me. Want to watch your face… you have such an expressive face! I'd know for sure… I'd see you… your love and your joy. You're so beautiful. We'd hold hands. Oh, darling, it's so good to be with you, it's so right… I…" Aziraphale comes so hard he has a bit of vertigo. He shuts his eyes - only to feel Crowley's lips on his eyelids. "You did so well, angel. You're perfect. My old angel… my perfect old angel."

Crowley says  _ old  _ like Aziraphale says  _ beautiful.  _ He needed to wait for it to come, maybe. It's better than any climax he's ever reached. All of Crowley is better than anything Aziraphale has ever reached. 


	8. Chapter 8

Aziraphale takes Crowley to a high-end smelly shop. The lights are dim there and the smells don't seem to be overwhelming. Of course Crowley is to be the judge of that, but he's too charmed by the shapes of bottles to pay any mind to the perfumes within. Aziraphale smells the perfumes for Crowley, only offering him a sample when he's more or less sure that the scent is not overwhelming or too heavy. He adores the way Crowley's nose wrinkles when he tries yet another perfume Aziraphale suggests. 

"Now… imagine that on me," Aziraphale whispers into Crowley's ear. "I like this one a lot…"

Crowley smells it again. It's warm apples and cinnamon and honey and Aziraphale's skin after a hot bath… "I'm hard," Crowley admits bluntly. No one hears it, but Aziraphale glows with delight and satisfaction. 

"Good, darling. Now… what would you say to this one, on you?" Aziraphale offers him another sample, it's cool, it's sweet grass and cucumbers and whipped cream. 

"Do I smell bad?" Crowley asks in horror. 

"No, my love. You smell lovely. A perfume can accentuate it, accentuate your scent… make me yearn for you more."

"Yearning is painful, and I don't want you in pain," Crowley replies. "Not on my watch, not while I'm alive." 

Aziraphale can't breathe, can't move with how much he wants and loves that man, that tender, devoted, loyal man who looks at Aziraphale with nothing but wonder. Who doesn't see Aziraphale's age and can't find a single flaw in Aziraphale's body or mind. 

"Darling, marry me. For better and worse, although I can't see how anything can be even a bit uncomfortable when I'm with you."

Aziraphale blurts it out and blushes. Perhaps the shop assistants are reacting, sighing or cooing or disapproving, but Crowley grabs a bottle of the perfume Aziraphale has suggested for him, gets on one knee, takes off his sunglasses and says:

"Let's smell weird together, angel, till death do us part and we both smell terribly!"

Damn this shop and its patrons and the price tags like pincodes, Aziraphale helps his gangly love back to his feet and kisses his nose, because Crowley is always comfortable with kisses on the nose. It's a sharp nose, it has to be kissed, lest someone used it to open a can of tuna.

***

Crowley rents a small cottage somewhere in the woods, close enough to the sea that they can hear the waves at night. It's spring and it's warm and it rains every day, so every day Crowley undresses and runs outside naked. Aziraphale isn't much of a runner but he finds the sight beautiful and definitely very arousing. 

And one day, the last day of what could be called their honeymoon, Crowley drags Aziraphale outside…

No, he asks Aziraphale very meekly and gently to undress and come with Crowley. 

There's an already wet blanket spread on the grass about twenty feet from the cottage. There's a pile of flowers on the blanket. It seems like Crowley has a plan, which Aziraphale finds comforting. The weather is pleasant, the rain is soft on Aziraphale's skin.

He sits in front of Crowley.

"The rain feels nice… doesn't it?" Crowley looks up at Aziraphale. He's wet and ridiculous and Aziraphale loves him.

"It does, darling. What did you have in mind?"

Crowley gestures at the flowers. "I picked them up in the morning. I want to make you a crown."

He does just that, makes an enormous flower crown. It takes him about half an hour to finish it, and no, he didn't have a plan. Aziraphale moves to sit closer to Crowley, moves to sit behind him, back to chest and their legs touching. Aziraphale kisses the raindrops off Crowley's shoulders and back, caresses his chest and ears, watches Crowley's fingers work smoothly and quickly. 

When Crowley is done, he turns around in Aziraphale's embrace and puts the crown on Aziraphale's damp curls. "There. Now we're… properly married."

Aziraphale opens his mouth to tease Crowley about a very proper marriage certificate they have, but… it won't come out right. They are properly married now, soaking wet, with a flower crown on Aziraphale's head, kissing in the rain, falling back on the wet blanket, breathing in the smells of grass and flowers and each other. Crowley has a point. The water gathering under and around them has them both, they are properly mixed into one scent. 

Petals fall off Aziraphale's head and stick to Crowley's skin. The sight makes Aziraphale stop breathing because somehow Crowley looks more naked and young like that. He's underneath Aziraphale, serene and calm, holding to Aziraphale's shoulders. His presence, Aziraphale thinks, is as right and natural as gravity. It all rhymes - their bodies, the rain, the ground, the grass, the warmth…

This is Eden, Aziraphale realises with a gasp that has nothing to with Crowley's lips on his neck. This is Eden, there's no one else around and nothing has a name yet. It's up to Aziraphale and Crowley to name those things, to name the place and the time, the world. Aziraphale calls it Crowley, and Crowley calls it Aziraphale. 

**Author's Note:**

> Toss a comment to your writer, oh valley of any?..


End file.
